Love, Hope and Dreams
by Zuzeca
Summary: In the streets of Chinatown, there is a petshop where one may find one's greatest desire...or worst nightmare. Watchmen/Petshop of Horrors drabble series.
1. Dawn

A/N:Hey there everybody, this is the first in a series of crossover drabbles reposted from the Watchmen kinkmeme. I read and loved the manga years ago and when the challenge came up I couldn't resist. The drabbles are all unrelated, but I'm posting them together for the sake of organization. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own the _Watchmen_ comic book or the _Petshop of Horrors_ manga, all characters are the properties of their respective copyright holders. I'm merely playing in the sandbox and am making no profit from this work of fiction.

Warnings: None, except maybe Rorschach being Rorschach.

-

"Dawn"

_The New Frontiersman_ is three hours late.

The grubby newsstand is closer to the foreign neighborhoods than Rorschach would like, and he suspects that the fat man behind its counter is of unsavory immigrant heritage, but unlike some of the more pretentious uptown stands, it consistently carries his preferred paper. So he waits, his sign resting against his shoulder, ignoring the morning's chill that has the vendor blowing on his fingers.

Boots click against the pavement and a man steps up to the counter, crisp in a black military uniform. Rorschach's fingers tighten on his sign.

The man is wearing a _German_ uniform and his carriage is that of a man used to combat, outwardly relaxed but alert and the vendor doesn't seem to _notice_ what could be a member of the ex-S.S. is standing at his newsstand, and under Walter's mask Rorschach is considering his options, his mind flicking through and discarding one plan after another and perhaps he might-

"You did the right thing," the man says. Rorschach's mind grinds to a halt.

"What?"

The man continues as if he did not hear, "Pups are sacred, and to harm one a great sin," he turns to Rorschach and some remnant of Walter flinches at the sight of keen brown eyes, "We would not have let them live either,"

Before Rorschach can say a word, the vendor leans over the counter, a paper outstretched, and the man takes it. Without a backward glance, he turns and heads off in the direction of Chinatown.


	2. Daze

A/N: Here's the second of my drabble series. The quote at the end of the story is taken from Volume 5 of the manga.

Disclaimer: I don't own the _Watchmen_ comic book or the _Petshop of Horrors_ manga, all characters are the properties of their respective copyright holders. I'm merely playing in the sandbox and am making no profit from this work of fiction.

Warnings: None, that I can think of.

-

"Daze"

After meeting, and working with, a man who glowed blue and could rearrange matter as though it were clay, who spoke of the future as though it had already happened, Adrian Veidt thought nothing could surprise him.

"The kirin has chosen you," says the slender, feminine man who'd introduced himself as "D".

"I beg your pardon? Is this about money?"

D smoothes his flowered cheongsam in a gesture of vague annoyance, "This may not be what I would prefer, but it has made its choice, and the will of the kirin must be obeyed," He produces a white business card, from where Adrian is not sure, since his garment does not appear to have any pockets, and slides it across the desk between them, "My card. If you would come down to my shop—"

"Look," says Adrian, "if this is a scam, I'm not entirely sure what you want from me,"

Mismatched eyes narrow, "I assure you, Mr. Veidt, this is no scam. If you feel the need to insult a creature that has existed since before your pitiful species crawled out of the muck, then by all means, stay here. I shan't bother you any more," D rises and exits with a huff, leaving Adrian twirling the card between his fingers.

The shop is tiny, decorated in garish colors, crammed between a restaurant and an herbalist, between lines of headless ducks and twisted brown roots. D ushers him inside and the sickly sweet scent of incense overpowers him. Clearly agitated, he beckons Adrian towards the back of the shop, pulling open a set of carved doors, dropping back and then Adrian forgets all about him.

It's beautiful, this creature of legend, though he won't remember anything about it later, except the eyes. Golden and compelling, filling his whole field of vision, one moment the slanted eyes of a young Asian girl, then reptilian, slit pupils beneath the horns of a stag, the next moment soft, round eyes, peering from the long face of a black stallion and he knows.

"Bucephalus," he breathes.

Bell tones of laughter fill his mind. _Yes, my king._

"You gave Alexander the world,"

_What is your desire?_

"To save the world. I am called the World's Smartest Man, but even I cannot see how stop humanity from destroying itself,"

_I can show you the way, but it will not be easy._

"I understand. I would give anything to accomplish this,"

_So have they all said._

Lightning arcs through him, but it is a bolt of knowledge, of terrible understanding and he falls to the floor, weeping.

"Horrible," he gasps, "So many dead. Is there no other way?"

_You will be successful._

"How can I bear this burden?"

_I will be with you._

And then it is changing, shifting. Purple fur ripples to cover scales and stag horns soften into pointed feline ears. The yellow eyes remain. It approaches and nuzzles him where he lies.

_Will you name me, my king?_

He rises, the word springing effortlessly to his lips.

"Bubastis,"

"_In the past, many emperors have made pacts with the kirin. No beast has brought more change to the people of the world…or more death… No man can tame the kirin. The kirin selects an appropriate king…and the kirin grants his every desire. But those desires don't come cheap, and the cost is payable in blood,"_


	3. Daniel

A/N: Probably the last of my crossover drabbles for now, though you never know.

Disclaimer: I don't own the _Watchmen_ comic book or the _Petshop of Horrors_ manga, all characters are the properties of their respective copyright holders. I'm merely playing in the sandbox and am making no profit from this work of fiction.

Warnings: I should probably put a warning for Daniel's dreams, but since they involve significantly fewer naked people in this it's probably okay. :) Also spoilers for the end of the GN. This takes place in a slight AU, where Dan and Laurie don't keep up with crimefighting after Karnack and are living incognito. This could also be interpreted as slight Dan/Rorschach, but it's mild.

-

"Daniel"

It is the combination of a distracting ornithological magazine and a powerful craving for authentic lo mein that leads Sam Hollis to this place, cornered on a brocade sofa by a Chinese man in a flowered dress and sipping tea sweet enough to rot his teeth from his head.

"So," says the man, with a flirtatious smile that makes Sam nearly choke on his tea, "what kind of pet were you looking for?"

He opens his mouth to say no, sorry, not looking for a pet. What comes out is, "Well, I really like birds,"

"Perfect!" the man claps his hands and rises, sweeping the cup from Sam's nerveless hands and tugging him towards the ornate doors at the back of the shop. They open to reveal an endless, winding hall, which makes the logical part of Sam's mind wail that the building shouldn't, _couldn't_, be large enough to contain a store this large, and the man yanks him through.

The scent of incense is suffocating, and the darkness blinds him. He flails for a moment as his eyes adjust, and he becomes aware of them.

Feathers rustle and bright eyes regard him from various perches, but these are _humans_. Humans preening colorful wings and murmuring in low tones. The cooing of pigeons and the soft chirps of finches spill from human lips. Sam gapes and rubs his eyes.

"Take your pick," D says, the "birds" crowding around him as he moves through the colorful flock. His smile reminds Sam of a large cat, "We have many species here, from your basic canaries and cockatiels," his lacquered nails comb bright feathers, provoking satisfied noises from a friendly woman in a yellow dress, "to species which just barely pass your import laws,"

Sam takes a breath, ready to tear into this lunatic, this _human trafficker_ when the flock parts in a swirl of feathers and the words die in his throat.

His wings are symmetrically patterned in black and white, ironically appropriate, but it is the hair that Sam notices first, red as blood, scruffy, and topping a freckled face with eerie blank eyes.

"Rorschach!"

He's at the other man's side in an instant, his own questions an incoherent babble in his ears, asking where, why, _how_, but then Rorschach is hopping back, wings flaring in startled response to his erratic movements and D inserts himself between them with smooth grace.

"You're mistaken," he says, one hand dropping to pet Rorschach's head. The other man avoids him, his expression shifting from blank to slightly annoyed for a fraction of a second, "This is an Australian Magpie, and I'm afraid he is unsuitable,"

"Why is that?"

"He has a bit of a temper," says D, jerking his hand out of reach as Rorschach snaps at it, "And he has resisted all attempts to train him to talk,"

"Daniel," croaks Rorschach.

Sam jerks slightly.

"I'm afraid that's the only word he says," D's tone is airy, but Sam finds himself brushing past him, crouching down in front of Rorschach. He extends a hand.

Blue eyes lock with brown.

"Daniel," the voice is low and hoarse.

Sam reaches back, withdrawing his wallet from a back pocket.

"How much?" he asks, and D smiles.

-

"A bird?" says Sandra, eying the new addition doubtfully, "are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It'll be fine," he assures her, "He doesn't take much care, and magpies will eat almost anything,"

"I suppose," she says, "What's his name anyway?"

"Walter," the word springs to his lips before he can stop it. The incense from that infernal shop must not have worn off.

Sandra flinches slightly.

"That's a nice name," she turns, brushing back blonde hair which looks flat and brassy in the lamplight, as she moves towards the kitchen "I'll see about dinner,"

He can't stop a fond smile at the sneaky way she snags a take-out menu on her way there.

"Daniel," Walter croaks.

Sam sighs, glancing over at the winged man perched on his sofa, "You're going to have to stop that,"

"Daniel," Sam is sure he's imagining the mulish expression on Walter's face.

For a few weeks nothing changes. Walter integrates seamlessly into their lives, to the point they sometimes forget he's there. He's well behaved and surprisingly clean; a perfectly ordinary bird.

Sam notices that he only speaks when Sandra isn't around.

Sandra's work schedule changes unexpectedly. Her boss puts her on the night shift and Sam is left alone, tossing and turning in their bed, which has gone from feeling too small to huge and empty.

Then the dreams start.

_He's showering, but the warm, soothing liquid spilling from the faucet isn't water. It's ink. The black droplets are splashing against the white tiles of the shower, dripping and pooling into abstract shapes._

_The ceiling is gone and Walter swoops down through the rain of ink, which stains his white wings. He's fixated by the contrast. _

_Walter's wings arch upwards. _

_The drops on his skin begin to stretch and grow, enveloping him. He squirms in panic, reaching out towards Walter in entreaty._

"_Rorschach!"_

"_Daniel,"_

"_Please, help me!"_

"_Daniel,"_

_Then ink is in his mouth, nose, filling his ears and he can't see, breath-_

"_Dan—"_

Sam comes awake with a gasp.

Walter is perched on the edge of the bed, his silhouette outlined against the grey dawn light.

"Daniel," he says.

"Shut up," says Sam, rolling over and pulling the sheets over his head.

The white muslin is cheap and easy to find, the black Kevlar fabric less so. Quilting and soaking the cotton fabric in salt water produces surprisingly tough armor. He digs his old goggles and the grappling gun from their grave at the back of the closet and constructs a new mask. The beak is longer, the costume lighter and more mobile and short wings between his wrists and body replace the cape. He works long into the night, filling the sleepless hours, as Walter perches on the sofa, watching.

He hides the costume from the light of day and doesn't say anything to Sandra.

It's a cool fall evening when he puts on the suit for the first time. It fits him like a second skin.

He's slipping from his window under cover of dark, but the flutter of wings stops him for a moment.

Walter is perched on the sill, wings pulled close as though in preparation for a dive.

"Daniel," he says, and the monotonous voice sounds hesitant.

Daniel smiles and extends his hand.

"Rorschach,"

-

They're calling him "Shrike", for his habit of leaving criminals dangling from high places, alive but shaken, and for the bird familiar that the thieves and pimps say fights like a demon.

"What is this?" Sandra snaps, throwing the paper down on the kitchen table.

He looks up from feeding Walter bits of ground meat, "It's nothing,"

"Don't treat me like an idiot!" her voice is low, but full of fire, fire he hasn't seen in her in ages, "We agreed, if this is going to happen, then it's together or not at all. And then I find you've been going behind my back! What were you thinking, going out there alone? Even after—" she pauses a moment and swallows hard, "Even now it's too dangerous to be by yourself!"

"I'm not alone," he replies.

"Walter's a bird! He's no substitute for a real partner!"

"That's not true!" the volume of his voice shocks them both, "He's more than that. He's my partner,"

"He's not Rorschach!"

"You can't see it!" he's risen from the table and she seems surprised at his challenge, "You can't see him because you don't _want_ to see!"

She steps back, "You're crazy,"

"Well at least I still know who I am!"

She jerks as though he's slapped her. Off balance, she tries to compromise, "Listen, I know that you feel guilty, but Sam-"

"Don't call me that!"

She freezes, eyes wide.

"My name is Daniel,"

She slams the door on her way out.

He doesn't feel guilt. Guilt will come later, when he's sitting on the edge of a roof, Walter perched beside him, looking out over the carpet of glowing jewels that make up the city.

"I suppose I should apologize," he says, leaning over to scratch Walter's head. Walter coos in response, leaning into his touch "That's the thing with women; it never works if you're not willing to compromise,"

"Daniel," Walter murmurs.

He chuckles to himself, "That was always the difference between us, wasn't it?"

Muffled shouts from a nearby alley draw his attention and he drops from the roof, Walter at his side.

It's a routine mugging and the little punk goes down under his fists like a sack of bricks. He turns to help the woman up off the ground, but then, a flash of movement and stupid _stupid_, forgot to check for another guy, and the man has a gun, batting Walter away and he's completely exposed, and he shoves the woman away from him.

The gun goes off.

Feathers explode before his vision and red splatters across the front of his costume.

Instinct tells him to go after the man, but all he can see is Walter, crumpling to the ground.

The gun goes off again.

He touches his side and his fingers come away wet. Lucky shot, he thinks, at the joint of the armor, his mind bizarrely logical in spite of the agony crawling up his spine. His vision is whiting out and his knees give beneath him.

His eyes close, but he feels at peace.

The police will find them in the morning, the dawn light revealing a middle-aged man in a bird costume, a small black and white bird tucked beside him.

-

Liked it? Hated it? Pretty depressing I know, but really, considering the source material, I think depressing is probably the norm. Please Read and Review.


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